


a place in the sun

by acrobats



Series: the longest way around (is the shortest way home) [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Driving, Family Dynamics, Fast Cars, Gen, Good Big Brother Jason Todd, Light Angst, Sibling Bonding, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Robin, because Tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrobats/pseuds/acrobats
Summary: “Great. You're good to drive then.”“I'm good to what?”“Drive. Vroom vroom,” Jason deadpanned, holding out his hands and pretending to steer a wheel. “C'mon, Replacement, let's go.”





	a place in the sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an AU that I will eventually get down to writing, probably, but it can be pretty much be read as a standalone aside from a couple of references, so I figured I'd just post this for the moment. If you want to skip the info-dumping and get right to the story, go ahead, you're not missing much.  
> The AU more or less follows New Earth continuity regarding Jason's resurrection and then diverges from there. After being exposed to the Pit, Jason stays to train with the League, meets Damian, gets his Pit rage under control for the most part, and eventually returns to Gotham with Dami. At the same time, we see a little bit of Tim's first year as Robin and Dick's struggle to be a better brother this time around. When the four of them all meet, it doesn't exactly go well but...no one flat out tries to murder anyone else, so that's a win.  
> This takes place a few months after Jason and Damian have come to Gotham. Dick is 23, Jason is 17, Tim is 14 and Damian 8. Oh, and because Dick's first year as Robin is referenced - Bruce still took him in around 9-10 but he didn't start going out until he was 12. I don't want to bore anyone to death so I'll leave that here, but if you DO wanna know more, let me know!

It wasn't that Tim wasn't glad to see Jason, but finding his predecessor sitting crossed-legged on the floor in his bedroom wasn't exactly something Tim had seen coming.

“Hi,” Tim said intelligently, hovering at the doorway and not quite sure whether he could go farther inside.

Which was ridiculous. It was _his_ bedroom. What was Jason doing here? Maybe he'd made up his mind to kill Tim after all, although they'd been getting along better lately.

Jason, who had been on his phone, looked up and flashed him a smile that wasn't entirely friendly, but at least it wasn't 100 % animosity, either. Tim didn't know how to feel about it. Whenever Jason didn't look angry to see him, he just looked like he was hurting. That was the last thing Tim had ever wanted.

But, well, in this instance, Jason had very specifically sought him out, so Tim refused to feel guilty about it.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Jason asked.

Tim spluttered and shuffled into the room, a part of his mind that he couldn't shut off insisting that he was walking into a trap.

“Can I help you?” he asked cautiously.

Was that too cold? With Jason, it was hard to tell how anything he said would be interpreted, but he didn't want to give the impression that he was annoyed by the visit. Only extremely confused. And still a little concerned he might get stabbed, even if at this point that was more likely to come from Damian than Jason.

“No,” Jason said, something conspiratorial in his tone, “but I can help you. Dick says you're mad at Bruce.”

And Tim couldn't help himself. “He benched me,” he said, affronted, “over a _light_ GSW. Said I shouldn't tear my stitches!”

Jason grimaced. It looked almost sympathetic. “How long?”

“Until the stitches come off,” Tim grumbled. “Four more days. I know he doesn't _need_ me in the field when you and Dick –”

Jason held up a hand in a halting motion. “Where'd you get shot?”

“Side,” Tim answered, failing to see the relevance.

“Great. You're good to drive then.”

“I'm good to _what_?”

“Drive. Vroom vroom,” Jason deadpanned, holding out his hands and pretending to steer a wheel. He stood up and motioned Tim to come along. “C'mon, Replacement, let's go.”

Intrigued despite himself, Tim followed him out of the room. “Uh, where exactly?”

“On an adventure,” Jason said dryly.

From the confident way he led them through the hallways, you would have thought he'd lived here his entire life. In reality it had been three years, which was plenty of time, but he hadn't been back in just as long. They took a flight of stairs down to the parking lot basement. Tim was starting to get a really bad feeling about this.

He'd snuck out of home countless times before, but then there hadn't been anyone who would truly notice.

“Tell me you got clearance,” Jason said with a long suffering sigh. “Fucker added retinal scans since I was here last, and I doubt I'm on the list.”

“Well, no,” Tim said, frowning. And he should probably leave it at that, because whatever Jason was planning he really ought to not become an accessory, but. “But give me a minute with the control panel and I can get us in.”

Jason looked skeptical, but he stepped aside and let Tim work his magic. It didn't even take him a full minute. Tim felt a childish sort of satisfaction. Take that, Bruce. If he didn't want his security hacked, he should have better security. And failing that, he shouldn't piss off Tim by benching him.

“Nice,” Jason admitted.

Tim grinned. “Nerd skillz for life.”

They stepped inside, and Jason whistled softly in appreciation as he took in the array of sleek cars. There really hadn't been that many additions since his time, a grey Bentley Mulsanne and a black F12 Berlinetta, but the place was still a lot to take in if you hadn't seen it in a while.

“Damn,” Jason whispered. “Sometimes I forget how stupidly, pointlessly rich the old man is.”

Tim frowned. “Not pointlessly. Funds are instrumental to the mission.”

“Yeah,” Jason said with a snort. “And then there's still enough left over to feed a continent.”

No matter how angry at Bruce he was, Tim felt the absurd need to defend him. Possibly, he admitted to himself, because he also came from a background of wealth. There was nothing _wrong_ with that.

“Bruce donates a lot,” he insisted.

“Sure does,” Jason agreed. “Look, I can't explain this to you, alright? Just imagine – _one_ of the tires from one of these cars could cover somebody's rent for a month.”

Tim didn't know what to say. He had this sudden, ridiculous image in his head, of him and Jason going door to door with Santa sacks on their backs, delivering tires to the citizens of Gotham.

“Are we here to boost tires then?” he asked curiously.

Of course they'd actually have to sell them first and give people the money, but Tim was in. He'd heard the story from Dick, how Batman had returned to the parked batmobile in Crime Alley, only to find a kid in the midst of lifting his tires. How it had been so stupidly brave and desperate at the same time that instead of turning him in, Batman offered the kid a meal and eventually a home.

“Nope, I got sidetracked,” Jason said. “Think bigger. We're taking a car.”

Tim wasn't going to deny that driving any of these cars sounded like a dream come true. And it wasn't like Tim didn't know _how_ to drive. There had been more than one occasion in which a drugged, concussed or otherwise incapacitated Batman just wasn't up for the job, and somebody had to take the batmobile back to the Cave. But god, Bruce adored these cars. If he found out...

“I'm not really the teenage rebellion type.”

“No, you're a regular geek who got a little too invested in LARPing,” Jason said, patting his shoulder in mock-sympathy. “'Sides, kid, this isn't about rebellion. It's about tradition.”

Tim tilted his head. “Tradition?”

“Dick hasn't told you the story?”

Tim shook his head. Jason grinned. He hopped on the hood of the F12 and got comfortable, clapping his hands together before he began.

“So it was Dickie's first year as Robin,” Jason narrated. “And Bruce, you know him, was being a regular asshole. I don't honestly remember if he ever told me _what_ they were arguing about, but words were said. So our little Dickiebird gets angry, and he starts yelling about how he doesn't even want to live with Bruce, and since Bruce can't de-escalate a situation to save his life he just yells back “Well then you're free to go!” And Dick takes that literally.”

“Oh, god,” Tim said faintly, feeling mortified for the both of them.

“So, tiny genius that he is, he decides that he's leaving, and he needs a getaway vehicle. And so he storms down here with a bag of clothes and, believe it or not, takes off in the Carrera.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said again. “How is he still alive? How did he not crash?? How did Bruce not _kill_ him?”

Jason snickered. “If he is to be believed, he did fairly okay for someone who had never driven before. But he's still a shitty driver now, so I don't buy it. And apparently Bruce grounded him 'for eternity', but then he'd forgotten about it by next week.”

“That...doesn't actually surprise me,” Tim admitted.

“Dick told me that story when I was...your age, I think,” Jason mused. “Yeah, we didn't really get along the first couple of years. But we were getting better, so he told me the story, and I kept thinking about it. And then one day Bruce – well, he says _accidentally –_ implied that I would 100 % for sure had become a criminal if his holy Mother Teresa ass hadn't rescued me from the streets. And I took offence.”

Okay, what the fuck, Bruce.

“And then you took a car,” Tim guessed.

“The Reventon,” Jason confirmed, tone wistful, laughing when Tim's eyes widened in horror. “Yeah, I know. Fucker deserved it, though.”

“Shit,” Tim muttered, impressed despite himself. “You don't do anything by halves, do you?”

He'd never been quite the car fanboy he suspected Jason was – he said each of their names with something like reverence but also easy familiarity – but that didn't mean he didn't understand what a big deal it was to take a Lamborghini Reventon for a joyride.

Jason shrugged.

“I'm not quite sure I can live up to that,” Tim half-joked.

“You don't gotta,” Jason said. “It's a great way to deal with Bruce-induced stress, but if it's just gonna stress you out more, there's not much of a point.”

Tim hummed, considering. “You said it was tradition.”

Jason squirmed a little. “Did I? I don't remember. It's been a million years.”

But he had, and it meant a lot. It was a huge admission, coming from the guy who used to call him Replacement with every other breath he took, who once told Tim bitterly that he was expendable and that Batman would discard him as soon as he was done with him.

Thing was, Tim _knew_ that he was. He'd never planned to stay forever. Much less thought he'd be allowed to. He was only there because Batman needed a Robin, and nobody else had volunteered for the job. But now Bruce had Jason back, and his relationship with Dick was better than it had been in years, and he'd gotten a _real_ son to boot. Tim wasn't needed, not anymore.

This invitation to be part of...a Robin tradition, a _family_ tradition, it couldn't really change that, but damn if Tim didn't want to do it anyway.

“So do I get to pick a car?” he asked.

“Obviously. It's your _not_ teenage rebellion.”

* * *

Ten minutes later found Tim racing through the streets in an Aston Martin Vanquish, because really, if you had the opportunity to drive James Bond's car, how could you not? He stuck to large, mostly empty roads away from the city, because he really had no desire to run over an old lady on the off chance he was overestimating his driving abilities.

Jason _was_ chaperoning, but while Tim trusted that he didn't particularly want to get either of them killed at the moment, that didn't exactly mean he had complete faith in Jason's ability to prevent it.

They had the windows rolled down and Tim found himself grinning wide, pressing down on the accelerator and loving the roar of the engine. It was a similar thrill to grappling across rooftops or taking down a difficult opponent or performing a move he'd been struggling with flawlessly. Tim was giddy with it.

He took a particularly sharp turn and laughed, the wind in his face, the highway lights blurry as they raced past them. Maybe it was a vigilante thing, or maybe it came down to his tendency to neglect sleeping properly even before his Robin days, but he felt much more at peace during the night than the day. While the world slept, Tim was awake.

Tim was awake, he was alive, and his problems fell away.

Bruce was still kind of an asshole – he really could trust Tim's judgement on whether or not he was good to be on the field, or what were they partners for? And it was unlikely he would get to keep this partnership for much longer, anyway, but that wasn't the here and now. He didn't have much practice living it the moment, but he could acknowledge that it was a good one.

“So. Bruce benching you,” Jason said casually.

Well. It had been a good moment while it lasted.

Tim gave him a cautious look. “You really think it's a good idea that I talk about it with you?”

Jason shrugged. “Well, I am pretty great at shit-talking him.”

“You also _hated_ me until like, last week?”

“Last _month_ ,” Jason said defensively. “I had – have – perfectly valid reasons to be pissed, but I shouldn't have pinned it on you. I own up to that.”

“That's not what I meant. I just...” Tim shook his head ruefully. “Do you really want to hear me angst about how useless I feel?”

“Useless,” Jason repeated, incredulous. “How the fuck are you feeling useless?”

“You're alive and well – which I'm ecstatic about, don't get me wrong – Dick's around more than ever, and Bruce has a biological son. What exactly is my place in all this?"

"You're such a moron," Jason said. "Did you or did you not spend weeks trying to convince me that you didn't take my place?"

"Yes," Tim said cautiously, "but -"

"So doesn't it follow that you have a place of your own? Why should Damian or Dick or me being back put that in jeopardy?"

Tim shook his head. "You don't get it. I was only here because...because Bruce needed someone, and it couldn't be you and it couldn't be Dick. I was never going to stay forever. He's fine now, better than fine, and I'm not...needed."

"So what?" Jason shot back. "You'd really rather be here because the old man needs an emotional crutch rather than because you're wanted?"

Tim let out a shaky breath. He could not, he decided, have this conversation while driving. His hands were shaking, and he clutched at the wheel harder to stop it, pulling over on the side of the road.

"I'm not," he said.

He wasn't wanted. Bruce had only made him Robin because he needed one and because Tim wouldn't stop pushing. Dick had tried so hard with him to make up for feeling like he'd failed Jason. Sure, they'd all come closer in time, but they weren't...he wasn't...

He wasn't _family_.

"Tim, you stupid genius," Jason tried again with a sigh. "You think I would have hated you half as much as I did at first if it wasn't obvious how much he loved you? I wanted to hurt you because it would hurt him, like I didn't think my death ever did."

"It did," Tim argued fiercely. "Jason, it destroyed him –"

"That's not the point right now," Jason said with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm trying to explain to you that even as a guy who did his best to hate you both, I couldn't not see how much he cares about you. I don't know how the fuck you're oblivious to it."

Tim swallowed thickly, chest aching with the hope that Jason was right. It had to cost Jason a lot to admit to this. He had no reason to lie about it just to make Tim feel better.

“Look,” he said. “I appreciate this, really, but I just...”

“Just tell me something,” Jason demanded. “Is this a product of B's emotional constipation, your tragic backstory, or the shit I gave you when I came back?” Tim said nothing. “Great, so it's like, all of the above.”

“I'm just...” Tim paused, frustrated. It wasn't often he struggled with words like this. “It's just how it is. I know that Bruce is probably not gonna, you know, flat out kick me out, but it's like...if I'm not useful, then I'm a burden. You know?”

“For fuck's sake,” Jason said, dropping his face into his hands. “Yeah, kid, I know. I know that Dick talks about you like a proud mom in a PTA meeting. I know Bruce's never respected someone half as much as he does you. But yeah, asshole, you're useless and you should just up and leave because nobody wants you around.”

Despite everything, Tim huffed out a laugh. “That was a very aggressive pep talk.”

“Best I can do,” Jason said. “Take it or leave it.”

“I'll take it,” Tim said with a grin. It had been strangely uplifting. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” Jason grumbled. “If anyone hears about this you're dead.”

Tim snorted as he started the car again. Doubt still nagged at him - this wasn't the kind of thing that any amount of assurances could just make go away - but if Jason, who had struggled and was struggling with his own place in the family post-resurrection, who didn't have a single reason to even like Tim, was so convinced of it...It had to have  _some_ basis in reality. 

He knew, conceptually, that Bruce and Dick cared. That was the kind of people they were and it was evident in their behavior once you knew them well enough. And yet the idea of them actively wanting Tim in their lives not because of something he had to offer but just because  _they wanted Tim in their lives_...That was more difficult to believe. 

But he wanted to. He really, really wanted to. 

"Yeah, yeah, you have a reputation to maintain," Tim said amiably.

Jason grunted in agreement. Tim bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from telling him how much like Batman he sounded. 

He turned the car around at the earliest opportunity, going back the way they'd come. The midnight drive had been pretty fun, Tim had to admit, both thrilling and relaxing in ways he hadn't expected, but it was time to go home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> My [tumblr](https://acrobatgrayson.tumblr.com).


End file.
